He wakes up, to a rain soaked afternoon, been asleep for three days, locked up in his room. He wonders if he'll ever find the strength to die; Searches and cries for courage he can't find. The screams are getting louder from down the hall, he can hear the glass break up against the wall; When it's over, he'll reach for the bits and shards, the jagged little pieces to scrape at his arms...

Growing up, he never had friends at all, he used to stare at the phone hoping someone would call. He'd count the hours til' bed and pray for lucid dreaming, to escape from a house where the filth was teeming. No plates, no dishes, no food in the fridge. No life, no love, no reason to live. And school was the worst, he was always in fights; He used to stay up nights and plot revenge on sight; So by the 10th grade, it all came to fruition; They found blueprints in his locker for a suicide mission. No money for attorneys to argue his state, to make the case for a mental health placement space. Just an overburdened system, where nobody cared; Locked up in 8 by 10 for two years. The four wall syndrome, you'll lose your mind; And he was already troubled his entire life. On the outs, he had no place to go; So he drifted between different halfway homes...

And it all seemed hopeless, no matter where he went, he could never find focus...

So he moved back home; To the cold dark room where he used to sleep alone...

He's been there for weeks. He just sleeps, shivers and shakes beneath the bed sheets...

And he stares at the rain; Day after day cause it never goes away...

There's a nine in his step father's closet with no lock, loaded with ammunition and stashed inside a shoebox. A bottle full of pills at the edge of his bed, and a razor blade dulled by the skin that he's shed. With all of these devices, you'd think he'd find a way; He crawls back in bed, it'll happen one day...